


Saint Valentine

by the_noble_bachelorette84



Category: Parade's End - All Media Types
Genre: Danger, Fluff, Gen, Visions, War, saved - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_noble_bachelorette84/pseuds/the_noble_bachelorette84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Christopher Tietjens is on the front lines of a terrible war, ever in the presence of danger, and death. But even after being rattled by a large explosion, his hope does not waver. Thanks to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saint Valentine

He lay there on the slanting barbed wire fence. The explosion had happened not far from him and had knocked him back to his current position. He was dazed. His ears were ringing like church bells after a wedding. He hadn’t taken inventory of all of his appendages, but he didn’t feel at a loss for any of them. He just felt lost. As though the world was spinning around him instead of its typical axis. He felt somehow simultaneously as though he would fall from the ground beneath him and also cemented to it, unable to move. A fog seemed to set in all around him and he could see nothing but cloudy whiteness. He thought he heard a familiar tune from another lifetime. A tune he’d previously heard in a fog similar to this one. Heard from his own lips, now that he thought.   
And there, in the distance he saw it. The mist began to swirl, ethereal, seeming to produce a slight figure. A figure draped in white, with hair the color of sunshine and eyes the blue of a restless sea. Was this an angel sent from God Almighty to take him to his Eternal Reward? He thought he might have been a fool to fear death in his youth, for death seemed a small price to pay to look upon such beauty. She moved slowly towards him with the grace of a doe, reaching toward him with both arms outstretched.   
“Christopher.” He heard her whisper, but he could not reply. He seemed to have lost his voice. Where were his lips? Why would they not answer her? He finally found them, but managed only a small “ah” as a reply.  
Then as she closed the distance between them, he began to remember. He remembered the whole of the song he had sung, and the musical reply of his beloved. He remembered the kiss that almost was. He remembered lips red as strawberries and a regret that had tugged at him every day since.   
“Valentine!” he rasped, as if holding back tears.   
She laid her warm, soft hand on his check, causing him to close his eyes in contentment. Her touch felt like home. More so than even Groby had ever felt.   
“Christopher, come back to me.” She pleaded. He sighed happily, leaning into her touch, and threatened to nod off.  
“Christopher!” she stated, clearly and loudly, startling him awake, in more ways than one.   
There was suddenly noise and movement all around him, replacing the previous fog. He scanned his surroundings, but his love was nowhere. He felt nothing but cold drizzle hit his face; heard nothing but the artillery of the Huns going off in the distance, and their projectiles landing feet from him; saw nothing but frantic comrades, some lying injured, some attempting to move the fallen, and still others holding their ground, ready to return fire after the enemy had ceased in order to reload.  
He made himself get up from where he had fallen, his spectral visitor giving him the strength and will to move his battle-worn and weary bones. He walked down the slope into the trenches.  
“Private, you and Hodgkins pick up this debris. Can’t have anyone stumbling upon it. Hilliard, report.”  
“Sir!”  
“How many dead?”  
“Captain. Five are dead, eleven are badly wounded. The attack came at precisely half past four this morning, 14 February.”  
“Thank you, Hilliard…wait, what was the date?”  
“14 February. St. Valentine ’s Day. Did you send your sweetheart your love, sir?”  
“No, I did not. But I think she sent me hers.” He turned to look back up the hill at where he’d fallen, just in time to see an explosion on that very spot.   
He wasn’t raised Catholic, but he thought he might have his own Saint Valentine to thank for his survival, and he would make damn sure he made it out of this hellhole to show that gratitude in person.


End file.
